


...and dance the blues

by keenquing



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: F/M, Shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keenquing/pseuds/keenquing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has a shoe fetish, and Mandy just bought *a lot* of shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...and dance the blues

When I get in, Trevor and the boys are sitting in the lounge with at least two girls apiece. Pretty things, too. Might have to give them a whirl, after. I've got my eyes on a much better prize right now, though.

“Is Mastah Demon still in bed, then?” I ask, though I don't stop to actually hear their response. I know he is, because Curt's still out and that means Brian's still pouting. Good. I'm actually on Curt's side on the whole thing this time, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to take advantage of his absence. All's fair in love and war, all that rubbish.

Shannon tries to stop me. Sweet little thing. “Mistah Slade's not feeling well—“. She stops the second I put my hand out, though. I should feel bad that she's probably been slapped around before, but that's not my problem.

“I know, dahling.” I hold up one of my shopping bags. “I went out to get some things to make him feel better.”

“He said he didn't want any visitors, though,” she says, one last pitiful attempt to stop me. And I won't deny that it hurts to be downgraded to 'visitor'. I'm his _wife_. That's a battle to fight another time, though. Now, I just push Shannon aside and open the door.

Oh, and that's a pitiful sight. It's hard not to laugh as I shut the door. “Still moping, Brian?”

“Go away, Mandy,” he grumbles, keeping his head buried in the pillow. I want to tease him; tell him that his roots are showing or something terrible like that. Later, maybe. Now I set down my bags by the vanity and walk over to sit beside him.

“Curt's still gone, I take it,” I say, making a play of examining my nails on the off chance he lifts his head.

“Yes, the ungrateful tosser. All I've done for him and this is how he repays me?”

I'm sure he natters on for a bit after that, but I don't really listen. I've heard all this before far too many times in the last six months, so to keep him from getting to the point where he threatens to throw Curt out, I clap my hands together and stand up to get the bags. “Well, lucky for you, I've got just the thing to get your mind off him.”

When I turn around, he's lifted his head and has one eyebrow screwed up high. “What's that, then?”

I have to concentrate to keep myself from absolutely beaming; I'm supposed to be feeling bad for him, after all. “I went shopping.”

He blinks; poor dear, normally he'd be so much quicker on the uptake but two days without sleep hasn't done him any good. “And—?”

I almost giggle as I hold the bags up so he can see them. “I got shoes!”

A light comes on in his eyes, then, and he sits up a bit straighter. “Yeah? How many pairs?”

I shrug, even though I know exactly. “Six, I think. Do you want to see them?”

“Haven't anything better to do.” He's trying to sound like he doesn't care, but I can already see him shifting under the covers. I almost wish I'd bought out the whole store, now, just to watch him squirm longer. Oh well. I know they'll fight like this again.

“Get over here and give me a hand then, will you?” I say, sitting back on the bed as I rummage in the bag for the first box.

Anyone else in the house said something like that, he'd pull the Maxwell Demon act. Maybe even Curt, if things were already tense. Right now, though, he wouldn't dare do that to me. He's up in a flash, pulling the chair from the vanity and turning it around to face me. He sits down and I can feel the weight of his gaze as I look for—ah, there they are. I stop trying to hide my smile as I hand the box to him and lean back, stretching my legs out so my feet are resting just below his cock. Soft, now, but that won't last for long after he sees—

“Oh—“ he lifts one of the rainbow zebra striped pumps out, practically drooling already. “Have I told you what good taste you have, Mandy?”

“Many times, dahling. Now,” I jerk my head and have to bite my tongue so I don't giggle as his hands fumble around. Putting the shoe back in the box, he takes my left foot in his hands and unbuckles the strap of the shoe I'm wearing now—silver, with glitter of course. He undoes both shoes, setting them delicately on the ground, before he goes for the new ones.

It's nice to see he hasn't forgotten the rules. With Curt Wild around, all danger and leather, I was beginning to worry Brian had completely forgotten my existence, much less the games we played when it was just us. This, at least, he's remembered. He doesn't touch my feet any more than he absolutely has to—a hand on the my calves as he takes the old ones off and puts the new ones on. He strokes the shoes, though. His fingers run all along the insole, the toe, the heel. That's _all_ he strokes, despite the fact that his touch is the only thing about him that's soft now. Yes, I _know_ the shoes are the reason he’s hard and not me, but it’s nice to pretend.

He delicately sets my legs down after he's done worshipping the shoes with his hands and I get up. I walk over to the mirror, back to him, and arch my legs and turn around for a couple of minutes as if this is the first time I've seen these pumps on my feet. In the mirror, I see him watching only my feet. While I'm looking, I toss my silver-and-blue sequin jacket to the floor.

“Right,” I prance back to the foot of the bed, stretching my feet out to him. “Next pair.”

His breathing is shaky, but he manages to get control of everything else as he takes my feet in his hands. He remembers this bit, too—after removing a shoe, he leans down to run his tongue along the top of my foot and between my toes while his palm rubs the bottom. He's allowed, now—I've just pranced about in brand new heels, of course my feet hurt. And it's good, so good, that it's a little hard for me to focus on getting the next pair.

 ****

~~~

It goes on like this—him keeping to himself while he puts the new pair on and worshipping just as he's supposed to, me getting a little less clothed with each prance in front of the mirror. We've gone through the red-and-yellow-and-leopard print slingbacks, two different colours of metallic-glitter platforms, and the almost-hideously high neon green stilettos. Last pair now; red velvet pumps with rhinestones on the toes. , He pets them heavier than the rest, so much that I almost have to smack him to get him to let go. He must be _painfully_ hard, now. Too bad he'll have to wait just a bit longer.

My bra went off last time, so while I turn to let him get a good look at all sides of the shoe and what they do to my legs, I slide my panties down. His breathing gets almost embarrassingly loud as I unhook them from the heels, though I doubt that’s because I’m naked.

I still don't have to say anything when I walk back to the bed and lay down, my feet just touching the carpet. He's off the chair and on his knees and before I can think to laugh at how eager he is his tongue is all over me. His hands, though, are firmly gripping the shoes.

To his credit, I cum twice—fast, but not too fast—before he stands and crawls onto the bed, on top of me. He hoists my legs up so that the heels are digging into his sides as he fucks me. I don't pay too much attention to that—I'll probably cum again, but if I don't, no bother. I just watch us in the mirror behind him; the red velvet and sparkling rhinestones against his soft white skin. I may not hold any power over him by myself—I'm a 'visitor', now—but _shoes_....

As if to prove the point that I am not the thing he wants, he’s barely off me when there’s a knock at the door and Curt’s slurred apology through the wood. He doesn’t even bother to _ask_ me to leave; just jerks his head to the door.

It’s nice not to have to worry about gathering up my clothes. I think about grabbing the shoes, but realise before I even touch them that I’d never be able to wear them without feeling a little sick.

Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted, and one of those lovely girls must be free by now--hopefully the red head.

Unlike everyone else in the house, Curt doesn’t give me a pitiful smile as he slinks past, and I can’t bear to be smug with him, either. Maybe later, I'll tell him that if he wants to get his way the next time they fight, he should go buy some new platforms.


End file.
